


14DALovers 2020

by olliolli_oxenfree



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22518997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olliolli_oxenfree/pseuds/olliolli_oxenfree
Summary: My fills for the 14 Days of Dragon Age Lover's Prompts; most of these will be an excuse to write the scenarios I've had in my head the longest and as such lengths will vary greatly. Chapter titles will list the prompt and pairing.This is going to be one of those works that have a billion character / relationship tags and for that I apologize.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair/Warden (Dragon Age), Amell/Jowan (Dragon Age), Amell/Surana (Dragon Age), Female Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Female Lavellan/Solas, Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Jowan/Female Surana (Dragon Age), Jowan/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age), Male Amell/Female Surana (Dragon Age), Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Morrigan/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Rose: Alistair/Warden

The wardens returned to the keep covered in dust and a look in their eyes that said the next thing to bother them would either wait or die. Dworkin, not so much brave as protected by his workbench of explosives, hailed, “How were the bandits?”

Instead of turning to look at him with her good eye, the Commander rolled her head back and twisted her neck.

“Ooh, you look like _Justice_ when you do that!” Sigrun observed. The corpse looked rather offended.

“Next batch is ready when you’re human again!” Dworkin waved after them.

“Anything for me?” Lanni sighed when they were within the fortress proper.

The private shrugged as she passed Nathaniel a letter from his sister. “The usual complaints. ‘Spawn still about, war screwed over food production. _My_ land was promised to me by a traitor so the person wanting it back is _clearly_ in the wrong. Passed it all off to the Seneschal.”

“There’s a lass.”

“Oh!” The private dug for a letter tucked in a fold of her satchel. “Letter for Her Majesty!”

Lanni, having decided business within the Arling could wait until she was clean, called back, “Her Majesty’s dead!”

The private grinned. “It’s from _His_ Majesty!”

Lanni turned back, a blush across the un-burned half of her face. “Oh. Thank you.” She snatched the letter and quickly retreated down the hall.

“That’s why I tell you not to flirt with her.”

“I’m flirting _back_.” Anders informed Nathaniel.

Secluded in the office she’d taken to sleeping in—she was under _no_ circumstances using _any_ of the Howes’ rooms—Lanni broke the waxen seal. As she unfolded the letter a petal fell from the crease. She picked it up and smiled at the silken feel. If she didn’t know any better, between these he managed to send in the dead of winter and the one he’d kept for nearly a year after leaving Lothering, she’d guess he was magic.


	2. Hand Holding: Dorian/Inquisitor

“Dorian. Have you seen the Inquisitor?”

“Is it terribly important?” Dorian asked Cassandra. She was harried enough for it to be; he wouldn’t want the Inquisitor to suffer unduly for his fun if it was.

“There is a delegation arriving from Nevarra today. Josephine only knows pleasantries.”

“That can’t be too bad, can it? Surely they’d send somebody who knows the King’s Tongue?” Or Orlesian, if they were truly desperate.

Cassandra rolled her eyes with a noise of disgust. “They _could_. Nevarra only sends those who speak Nevarran. The way they see it, if someone else desires something Nevarra can provide then they will need Nevarra enough to learn the language.”

“Well, I’ve never met anyone better than Josephine at saying ‘hello’,” Dorian set his book aside. “Let’s hope we find them before more is needed, hm?”

The Inquisitor was in the main hall, deep in what seemed to be a lovely conversation with two women. He caught Dorian and Cassandra’s eyes over the back of his company’s heads and gave them a quick smile.

“That’s them. We—oh.”

They’d drawn close enough they could hear the words: Dorian understood not a lick of them. The smaller of the two women, her plump brown face giving off an aura of kindness, turned and grinned at them before speaking in the language once more. Darrell made the obvious introductions. The smaller woman was the official ambassador from Nevarra. The taller had no title.

“I was not aware you spoke Nevarran,” Cassandra confessed after greeting the delegates.

“You—?” Darrell’s eyes widened and he broke out in laughter. He ran his hand through his hair so it swept back across the length of his scalp and tossed the ends of his silken scarf along a forearm. The intent of the effect was lost on Dorian. Cassandra blanched.

“You’re—you _are_ —?”

“My mother is, technically speaking. I haven’t meant to be _hiding_ it.”

Cassandra was one thing. How did _Dorian_ not know?

The delegates had been watching with cool, polite smiles. The tall one asked a question and Darrell answered in a tone that meant ‘yes’. He turned and gave Cassandra a similar query, and she soon led the two women away.

“I _do_ understand your need for privacy, Inquisitor, truly. But are there any _more_ parts to you?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to hide it.” Darrell looked abashed, enough so Dorian decided to take pity on him. “Not _all_ of me can be traced back three Ages to Tevinter.”

Maybe not _that_ much pity. “Just the three languages, then? Not going to start speaking in Antivan to me, are you?”

“I’d like to, if Josephine’s willing to teach me. Just the three for now.”

“Hm. Where _did_ you have Cassandra ferry them off to?”

“The ambassador’s wife wanted a tour. I’d have, but my time’s already taken.”

Dorian _knew_ he’d liked them for a reason. “And what has your time, Inquisitor?” He was already thinking of several proper distractions for the overworked man.

“A meeting with our advisors. Want to join me?”

He considered saying no: his research into Corypheus’ origins _was_ important. Before he did, though, at the end of the hall he caught sight of the ambassador stretching up to kiss her wife’s cheek. Something not entirely ugly but that left him feeling poorly flashed through him.

Join me, he had said. Not _us_. Me.

“I think… I think I rather would. Yes.” He wasn’t entirely sure if Darrell’s answering smile made him feel better or worse.

Josephine greeted them from her desk. “I will join you as soon as these are done. Please, give me just a moment.”

Dorian didn’t pay much attention to the Highly Secretive Meeting Deciding Thedas’ Future, but the few times he did manage to focus they seemed to be discussing resource distribution. He was more interested in studying the movements of the Inquisitor out the corner of his eye. It seemed each time he did he remembered the oh-so casual affection between the Nevarran delegates. Every time that unsettling feeling filled him again.

He hung back as the Inquisitor tidied a stack of papers and was last out the room after Darrell. The three advisors walked some distance ahead. Dorian slunk closer and linked his little finger with Darrell’s. A small jolt went through the man, and he sent a startled glance over. Darrell’s finger tightened the grip, and Dorian finally felt certain whatever the emotion was was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was Free Day at the zoo so I wrote this in front of the sea lions it was dope.


	3. Bow and Arrow: Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said these were going to be an excuse to write scenarios I've had for a long while? This one is straight up a love story between Terron and his weapons.
> 
> It's *my* sleepover and *I* get to decide what love means!

His bow is given to him while oil is still in his hair and his face and neck sting from his ceremony. Not another one passed between them while they learn to hunt. His _own_ , made by Ilen for no hands but his. It makes him feel more an adult than the mix of blood and ink.

* * *

Varathorn hands him the bow of ironbark and remarks that it will need a name. Terron agrees. It is too fine a work not to have one. He ponders over the craftsmanship as they consider.

“Wolf-Killer.” There is a dark, righteous look Terron shares behind Varathorn’s approval.

Though Wolf-Killer is as fine a weapon as any he’s seen, and well earns its name before the day is half gone, it is not the one he reaches for in the mornings. His bow—the one made by Ilen—was not so fine a work as to be given a name, and it has been nameless too long to be given one now. It is not that one is named and the other is not. It is that the further he travels and the longer he is from his clan the tighter he grips his last remnant of home.

A hurlock rips it from him. He hits stone and hears something crack; fool enough to think it bone. He _did_ land hard enough to fracture his skull Wynne explains patiently. From her tone he gathers it isn’t the first time she’s told him.

“I _heard_ something,” he insists. When he is allowed to stand he looks around and asks, “Where’s my bow?” He is given near perfect halves.

A wounded sound leaves him and he finds himself wishing that, somehow, they’d managed to save it instead. Sten gives him a look of utmost sympathy, and Terron feels a new kinship with his fellow outsider.

* * *

He finds it deep in the woods, both befitting and a form of insult that such a work of art was lost to the world. A great, majestic bow taller than himself. Carvings in the wood evoke in him the same excitement of seeing Falon’Din’s _vallaslin_ on another’s face.

Though he is loathe to part with it, he asks the clan. None of them—even Zathrian with his ill-gotten multitude of years—recognizes it. He senses a longing in some of the hunters he understands. He has done them such a service even the most envious are happy to let it remain with him. It is such a fine piece he would stake a claim to it if they did not. He _did_ find it, after all.

As he studies it by firelight the shadows reveal runes carved into the back below the groove. “Falon’Din’s Reach” is the best translation he can give Alistair when he asks. It is not quite the true term. He doesn’t know if the _shemlen’s_ tongue has one. The grasp, the _breadth_ of the god of death and fortune as he attends his task.

The draw strength is too great for him. Each night they stop he strings and works to become worthy of it. When he achieves it, makes the motion of nocking and loosing arrows as effortless and much a part of himself as breathing as it has been with the other two, he feels he is finally all that is meant when his people say “hunter”.

It is the one in his hands as through the ringing in his head he snarls, “ _Fen’Harel ma halam_ ,” and sentences the Archdemon.

* * *

“I should be angry he made something this good.”

“I _am_ angry.” Velanna muttered, staring at Wade’s completed work. Terron could see a part of her wanted to burn it while another part was clearly in awe of the _shemlen’s_ skill. “Why did you give him the Heartwood?” She demanded sharply. “It should have gone to the clans!”

It should have. “Honestly? I wanted to see what kind of disaster he’d come back with. It worked out!” He said quickly.

Her eye twitched and, of all things, she started praying. “...and may you forgive my grievances in the face of—”

“Hey!” Terron snapped when he realized _who_ she was sending her prayers to.

“Shh. I’m getting back on the Keeper’s good side. ...How good is that thing, anyway? I bet it just looks nice but you can’t use it.”

Terron looked down the points that framed the grip. Snatching three arrows from his quiver, he let them fly.

Velanna cursed.

“I think I love it,” Terron said, using the form meant for the deep admiration one felt for something they had a strong connection to.


	4. Napping Together: Zevran/Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've had the first two paragraphs as the exact scenario in my head for *years*, but if you came here you deserve something a bit longer so have some extra as a treat.
> 
> For those following along at home this is a direct follow up to chapter four of ZevWarden Week - AKA the best thing I've ever written.

It is the chill that wakes Zevran. He slits an eye open when it does. No unexplained noises in the room, no shadows that didn’t belong. He slides away from the arm over him and lifts himself on his elbow enough to find the reason. The blankets are bunched at their hips, done by Terron while in his sleep. Zevran smiles fondly as his head hits the pillow. 

Antiva’s night air causes sweat to bead at his Warden’s brow. As he watches, Terron presses his face towards the pillow and murmurs incoherently. His fingers twitch as if in search of something. Zevran fills them with his own. With how soon he relaxes Zevran can rest easy knowing his dreams are not of darkspawn.

The thought draws his gaze to the mark of corruption dark on his Warden’s black skin. A small frown crosses Zevran’s face. He has to set his hand beside it on Terron’s chest to be sure, but there _is_ a change. It has not grown so far as Zevran can tell but the shape is—ah.

A sigh of relief leaves him. It is a scar: thin and diagonal and making a trick of the light that his thumb found the trick of. Zevran slots himself back into place in Terron’s arms and decides to ask after it in the morning.


	5. Love Letter: Zevran/Warden, Morrigan/Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A two parter in which one warden receives a letter and another gets word of the woman he's been looking for since the Blight ended. This chapter's special to me because it's the first published work of the Multi Protags AU!

“Message for you, Commander!”

“Thank you,” Terron immediately passed it to Caedan. Before he could continue his conversation with Sigrun, Caedan smacked it into his chest.

“It’s for you.”

Caedan winked over his shoulder as Terron peeled the paper away. Eventually he was able to parse the first line through the moving letters.

_Greetings from Antiva!_

“Caedan! Caedan _enchant_ this!”

* * *

“Er, ‘scuse me?”

“Yeah?”

A soldier poked their head into the library. Caedan sat at a table piled high with books. Papers strewn across the few clear spaces were covered in drying ink.

“Reports from the south, ser. Only, Commander’s already gone to bed.”

“Don’t call me _ser_. You can leave those here.” He flipped through the reports slowly. Land still tainted, darkspawn still cropping up, a woman—

Caedan slammed the rest of the papers down. A woman matching the description he’d provided: near the ruins of Ostagar. He ripped through the other reports. Why did only the _one_ mention her? Snatching it up, he raced through the keep.

“Terron!” Zevran looked over at him when he slammed the door open. “Terron, we just got reports back from the Wilds, and—!”

The blankets beside Zevran stirred. “Caedan. _Caedan_. Is the grainery on fire again?”

“No—”

“Is someone dying?”

“No, but—”

Terron stuck out his head and twisted to give Caedan a tired, pleading look.

“Er, right.” Caedan let the door close in front of him.

“...Did he say the Wilds?” Terron asked after a brief moment.

Zevran smiled sympathetically. “He did.”

Unsure what to do with himself, Caedan hadn’t yet moved when Terron opened the door and motioned for him to continue.

“I think Morrigan’s in the Wilds,” he said quickly. “I have to go see if it’s her.”

Terron studied Caedan’s features. “Okay,” he said finally. “ _But_ ,” he raised a hand, “Alistair and Lanni _are_ visiting tomorrow.”

“But, I—!”

“I’m going with you.”

“You are?”

“ _You are_?” Zevran echoed from within the room.

“I am,” Terron said firmly. His voice was softer when he spoke again. “It’s one day, Caedan. She can’t get far. Even knowing the Wilds as well as she does.”

* * *

“And _just_ to make sure, it’s not…?” Caedan pointed down.

“Not the Calling. Best of my knowledge.” Part of the reason for the monarchs’ visit, and the reason Caedan had no choice but to wait the extra day, was a series of symptoms plaguing Lanni. None of the court’s healers could give her a satisfactory answer and he had been happy to offer his services.

“Let’s see if I can tell what’s what. Pardon me.” He sliced the meat of her forearm. She inhaled sharply as he sped the flow of blood into a vial. A swipe of his thumb across the cut directed the blood to heal it.

Lanni rolled the sleeve of her shirt back down. “Oh, do you want a laugh? Guess what the healers thought it was.”

“ _Sweet Maker_ you’re pregnant!”

She turned to give her good eye a better view of him. “Yes? How did— _I am_?”


	6. Fighting Together: Dorian/Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Darrell Trevelyan's night at the Winter Palace. Today's focus is on sibling bonds. That's right, we're doing the Bow and Arrow thing again!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a companion piece to chapter 5 of my 2016 Bull/Inquisitor week fills.

“Lovely party.”

Dorian turned with a smile for another round of pleasantries. The Grand Game, thus far, was turning out to be rather tedious. Planned murders, insults behind smiles. One might think he was home. The woman who had spoken to him smiled at him from behind a feathered Colombina mask. Her green eyes and auburn hair offset the white of her outfit in a way that pleased the eye. A minor noble, possibly foreign.

“Quite. Is it to your liking?”

She hummed in thought. “It’s a bit _dull_ , isn’t it?”

“It _could_ use some livening up,” Dorian agreed. “Maybe some fireworks!”

“Those would be _perfect_!”

On the unspoken agreement that their duty of speaking to one another was done, she stood from her bench and left. Before Dorian could call that she’d left her glass of wine she had disappeared into the crowd.

* * *

“Now, Vivienne, someone will think there is something amiss if you frown so.”

“Something _is_ amiss, darling.” Vivienne’s tone was as cold as he’d ever heard it. He looked to where she was staring at Varric’s crowd of adoring fans.

“...What is?”

“There. In the white mask.” Dorian looked to where Vivienne nodded. That was...the woman he had chatted with earlier. She wasn’t doing anything that he could see. Just another admirer happy to bask in Varric’s presence. “She’s _perfect_. She gives every reaction he wants, and her only demand is for more.”

“That’s a bad thing, is it?”

“My dear, when has _anyone_ not found something wrong with one of Varric’s tales?”

“You two talking ‘bout that creep lady?” Sera demanded. “She was in a prime spot for throwing things— _shut it_ —and she catches it sure as anything. Says, ‘And you must be Sera’. Doesn’t even _look_ at me!”

“That’s what I don’t like, darling.” Dorian watched the woman perform for Varric with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. How _had_ he lost sight of that white outfit in a crowd? “She’s keeping track of us.”

* * *

“Drink?”

 _I have one, thank you._ was ready on Darrell’s tongue half a second before he recognized the voice. “Kendra!”

“Surprise!” She flashed him an impish grin, squeezing him tight.

“What are you _doing_ here? Did you drink out of this?” She’d swapped their drinks when they’d pulled back from the hug.

“Maybe.” She took a sip from his. “Heard you got an invitation and decided to come.”

“ _How_?” They’d had to use nearly every favor the Inquisition was owed just to get _his_ foot in the door.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll just say you owe me one.” Wasn’t _that_ pleasant. “So? Why _is_ the Lord Inquisitor out partying?”

His first thought was that he couldn’t have prayed for anyone better, his second that he shouldn’t involve her, and his third that if he couldn’t depend on his _twin_ then the Empress was good as dead already.

In a low tone, he asked, “Does anyone else here speak Nevarran?”

“Other than your Seeker? No.”

“There’s an assassin.”

“Mhm.”

“After the Empress.”

“Sure.”

He knew she was used to politics, but he wanted to impress her a _little_.

“And we need to get into the Royal Wing.”

Kendra stared at him. Slowly, a wide grin spread across her face. “Yes! Yes, this is _so_ going to make up for staying here a week.”

“A _week_?”

“Don’t worry about it. Give me a couple hours. One hour!”

* * *

Orlesians and their damned _harlequins_!

Dorian threw another ball of fire which they nimbly avoided. Then, before anyone had a chance to react, they rushed Darrell. Dorian braced another spell, but it was too close too fast. Even as Darrell fell back to avoid the attack Dorian knew nothing would help him in time. “Inquisitor!”

There was a flash of white, the screech of metal on metal, and the harlequin was thrown back. Without her mask on it took the brief pause before she threw herself at the harlequin for Dorian to recognize the woman.

“Stay back!” Darrell ordered, directed at them to not interfere. Dorian couldn’t imagine anyone getting between the two. He saw blood, but with their speed and ferocity couldn’t tell who had hit who or when they’d been hit. The one thing he could tell for certain was that the woman was keeping the harlequin from getting at Darrell: at one point lunging and physically hauling them back.

She whirled and kicked the harlequin so hard Dorian heard their ribs crack. They stumbled back, an ugly snarl distorting the painted face. Their eyes flitted between the group as if weighing their options. A dagger flew from the other side of the room and plunged into their skull.

The mystery woman leapt back so she was in front of Darrell. Both the Inquisitor and Vivienne put their arms up to caution everyone when Ambassador Briala stepped out of the shadows.

“Inquisitor,” she greeted. “I was looking to have a word with you tonight. Though I had hoped for one more...private.”

“I will be more than happy to find you again in a moment, Ambassador.”

Briala nodded. “You may do so in the Ballroom.” She knelt and took something from the harlequin’s belt. She threw it, and the woman beside Darrell caught the pommel of a dagger before it struck her chest. “My apologies for intruding. Inquisitor. Lady Trevelyan.” Briala turned back to the shadows.

“I don’t like her.”

“Maker, Kendra, _one_ person knows who you are—”

“I don’t. Like her.” Darrell rolled his eyes as the woman inspected the dagger Briala had thrown to her and tucked it away, switching it for the mask she’d been wearing earlier.

Now that he was looking, Dorian could see the resemblance in their shared skintone and the shapes of their faces. Despite their words, Darrell’s smile was fond as he explained, “Everyone, this is Kendra. My twin.” She stopped smoothing the feathers on her mask long enough to raise a hand in greeting. Dorian couldn’t claim he was the greatest expert in siblings, but didn’t they usually introduce themselves as such? He traded a glance with Vivenne. Them. Kendra had tracked them down because she didn’t trust _them_.

Well. The Inquisitor _was_ important.

“Any new leads on our assassin?”

“Probably no more than you.” Seemingly satisfied with the feathers, Kendra put her mask back in place. “I do have a few ideas for when you find them.”

“No.”

“Use them as a footstool.”

“Try again.”

“A table.”

“ _Kendra_.”

They looked _exactly_ the same when they rolled their eyes.

“ _Fine_. Tie them up, beat them up, and throw them out of the Winter Palace. You know how many people a dead assassin can kill? _Zero_.”

Varric interrupted the two. “She’s right, Smiles.”

“See? He gets it.”

Blackwall gave an uncomfortable cough. “We’re sure it’s not the _Ambassador_?”

“Please,” Kendra scoffed. “If Briala wanted to kill Celene, all she’d have to do is bat those pretty brown eyes, give a _one last night_ speech, and wait for the bitch to fall asleep.”

Dorian edged around the group circling Kendra and approached Darrell’s side. He could easily guess which of them she hadn’t made suspicious by how they spoke with her. Sera hadn’t stopped glaring at her since she’d shown up. He couldn’t help but notice Kendra’s eyes flick up and down Bull’s frame when he turned to make room for Cole.

“You aren’t hurt?” He asked the Inquisitor.

Darrell gave him a reassuring smile. “No, I’m—” The great bells chimed ominously.

“You’re late, is what you are,” Kendra observed.

“Fashionably so,” Dorian remarked, and there was approval in her tone.

“Quite so. Ugh, I need to change my coat.” They’d reached the light of the hall. A deep, long shadow turned out to be a bright blood stain.

Darrell’s voice shot up in alarm. “They didn’t hurt you?”

“Briala wouldn’t have done _shit_ if they had.” Kendra carefully arranged the folded garment over an arm so the color didn’t show.

“We’ll get you something to replace it. Josephine can—”

“Don’t bother. I’ve got extra.”

“Where?”

“In the guestroom. Where you keep extra clothes.”

“What—? Here?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Here_ here?”

“Where else would I be staying?”

Darrell looked utterly gobsmacked. “ _How_...?”

Kendra stiffened suddenly. Darrell whirled on his heel. “Duchess! My sister just informed me of your attendance.” His voice was warm, but his words as he spoke to an older, domineering woman were the meaningless noises of one trying to escape necessary formalities. He turned as he spoke and signaled behind his back, “Get rid of her.”

Vivienne came to his rescue, sweeping the Duchess away after introductions. Another relative: this one married into the family and not quite able to hide her thrill at having the ear of the Enchanter of the Imperial Court.

Kendra slammed her fist into Darrell’s arm. “ _You owe me_.”

Darrell’s hands covered his mouth as he gave a horrified whisper. “I love you.”

“Damn right you do.”

* * *

Kendra threw Dorian a wink as they passed each other at the threshold of the balcony. A friendly one; they’d gotten on swimmingly once he’d learned who she was. He caught her nab the cord of fabric holding one of the curtains back and drag it away behind her.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling put out after all that!”

“I’m just tired,” Darrell leaned his shoulder against Dorian’s. The Inquisitor’s weight on him was...well, it was nice. Dorian glanced over his shoulder and found the curtain Kendra had freed blocked the view of a portion of the balcony. His fingers jittered on the railing before he tightened them in a fist.

“Not too tired for a dance, I hope?”

* * *

“No, my lord, I haven’t seen my brother. Have you tried the garden?”

“I have.”

“The library?”

“Yes!”

“The trophy room?”

“Ahm…”

“Why don’t you try there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes that *is* a VeggieTales reference how keen of you to notice.


	7. Love Birds: Solas/Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's fill is really a love story between me and bones but I'll stick to the prompt and let a debut character tell it I guess.

“No no no!”

Fanari vaulted out of the window after the letters picked up by the wind. Leaping for those in the air and scrambling for those on the ground, she glanced around wildly for the ones that had escaped. She saw Solas pick up the last of them and darted over. “ _Ma serannas, hahren!_ ”

“No. I can see they are important to you.”

“That’s an understatement,” she gave a weak laugh. Rubbing the sharp end of the vallaslin on her cheek, she asked, “ _Ir abelas._ Um, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble…”

Letters clutched tightly to her chest so she wouldn’t lose them again, Fanari searched the ground on her hands and knees. The few stones that had been small enough to be lost in the freak winds were gone. Haven’s birds were different enough from those in the Marches that they were able to find most the feathers in the end.

Thanking Solas again, Fanari opened the door to the building she was staying in with a hip. “If it were anyone else they’d understand, but I don’t want the _da’len_ to be upset.” Fanari set her bundle down and leaned out the window to pull the shutters closed. Placing a hand on the seam she sunk her magic into the grain and willed the wood to lock tight.

“They’ve sent you all this?” Solas observed her as she set about placing the feathers under heavier objects to prevent another mishap.

“Most of it. You know how children are. ...Interested?” She asked as Solas inspected her small collection of bones.

“Some.”

“I don’t keep them just to look at them!” Fanari invited, picking up a raccoon skull she'd knocked askew to reset the jaw.

Solas traced the delicate, translucent skull of a shrew. “You know each of these?”

“The skulls, at least.” Some of the leg bones she had a decent guess at, but the ribs and vertebrae left her stumped. “The _da’len_ like to bring me what they find in the woods. It’s a game for them, but…” She could teach them. Spend time with them and come to know them as well as she knew the rest of the clan. The homesickness that plagued her threatened to bubble up and overwhelm her.

“You have a larger collection with your people, I presume?”

“Oh, yes!” Fanari gladly jumped on the distraction. “I _really_ want a bear skull someday. But, it’s best to leave them alone or move on if one wants to make a territory where we are. I just have to hope I find one already dead somewhere.”

“You must have been finding them on your own for some time, for the _da’len_ to bring them to you of their own accord.”

“I picked up the hobby from the Keeper. She likes to use their pelts as well, but I’m mostly interested in the skulls.” Elnara, Fanari’s younger sister and fellow apprentice of Deshanna, had been put off the interest when they’d had an accident with one of Deshanna’s skinning knives as children. There was none better than she in the clan at coaxing plants to grow, however. In _all_ the clans, Fanari thought it wasn’t too prideful to claim.

“I see. And, that one?” Fanari reached to touch the skull Solas indicated: a sparrow’s that hung from a looped cord around her neck. Outside of Haven she kept it tucked between layers of clothing to keep it out of harm’s way.

“It was a bit of an idiot,” she admitted. “It hatched near our _aravels_ and traveled with us whenever we moved. It didn’t know…” Fanari glanced quickly towards the door with an uncomfortable hum. “Well, you know how _shemlen_ are. I’d feed it sometimes so it took to following me around. Deshanna decided my sister and I were old enough to see what a village was like, and some of the boys threw stones. So,” she lifted the cord and the skull slid down the opposite direction.

“I am sorry.”

“Better _birds_ than _people_!” Fanari protested.


	8. Patching Up: Jowan/Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another follow up to an earlier piece: chapter three of DA Poly Week. Focusing on the rifts in relationships as well as physical injuries.

“ _Please_ tell me that’s the last of the dead bodies we’ll be fighting,” Alistair groaned as he leaned against Caedan.

“I could bring them back for you,” he offered. “Well. Not _now_. Give me a few years of study.”

Alistair gave a dramatic sigh as Caedan stepped away. Caedan knelt and examined one of the corpses. His entropy magic was able to drag at the energy spent in decomposition and the others in the dank passageway. The things certainly weren’t so cooperative when they moved.

“We should be safe.” From these, at least. “Want to take point?”

Alistair crossed his arms in front of himself quickly. “Oh, no. There’s something up there you’re not warning me about, isn’t there?”

“Frightened of the dark, are we?” Morrigan cut in.

“Right. Daylight here’s been _so_ much better.”

Alistair had long since learned Caedan was just as likely to join in Morrigan’s needling as he was to back up Alistair’s teasing. He only folded his arms when Caedan set one of his across Morrigan’s shoulders. “Now, Alistair, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Caedan summoned a ball of light and sent it hurtling down the passage. Sharp shadows showed where cells lined the path.

“See?” Morrigan’s voice was louder now they knew the way was clear. “Nothing to—”

“Is someone there?”

Caedan’s heart dropped like a rock. There was only one other voice as familiar to him in Thedas, and _she_ was still in Kinloch Hold.

Abandoning the group, he rushed to one of the cells and grabbed its occupant by the front of his clothes before he could back away. “Caedan?” Jowan’s expression grew nervous against the bars of the cell as he watched Caedan’s settle on fury. “Fancy us...running into each other?”

Caedan’s free hand gripped the iron cross of the bars. Shaking it as if to pull the structure from the wall he demanded, “Open the door. Open the door. _Somebody open the Maker-damned_ —” He was only vaguely aware of Zevran slipping into the small space to trip the lock. Hot, vicious rage was swirling in him. Blood caked Jowan’s robes and face. If whoever was responsible was still alive—

Zevran swung the door open enough for Caedan to notice.

“New friends? Oh,” Jowan’s face fell as Caedan pulled him out of the cell. “Senior Enchanter. You’re not—”

Caedan grabbed his shoulders. “ _What. Happened._ ”

Loghain. Loghain and a child apostate had happened. Caedan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, okay. But that doesn’t explain how you…” Caedan grimaced. Jowan looked worse and they weren’t even in proper light. Removing his cloak, he slung it around Jowan’s shoulders and attempted to fix Jowan’s matted hair with his fingers.

“Isolde,” Jowan admitted softly. A tremor ran through him. “She...she didn’t believe me when I said I didn’t know what magic was affecting the village. She had me tortured—”

He was going to pin the bitch down and strangle her.

“If,” Alistair began uncertainly. “If Connor _is_ the one responsible…” Caedan and Jowan shared an uneasy look. Caedan knew they were both thinking the same thing: You could only duck the templars so long.

Wynne sighed. “It is unfortunate, but if the boy is a mage he belongs in—”

“But that’s too cruel!” Leliana protested. “He’s just a child!”

“We all are,” Caedan muttered darkly.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Jowan grabbed Caedan’s hand. “Let me help fix this. I know I’m to blame for things getting out of hand, but…”

“I’m not letting you out of my _sight_ ,” Caedan pulled Jowan close. A disconcerted stirring rose behind them. Caedan glared coldly. “Problem?”

Jowan must have felt the gaze on them as they walked the same as Caedan. He edged closer, ducking against Caedan’s side. Caedan glanced back, and more than a few were trying to avoid looking at the pair. Whatever. Let them think what they liked. It wasn’t like any of _them_ were shining beacons of morality.

“Um,” Jowan looked at him questioningly, and Caedan wondered if he was in a mood to give the exciting version of how he’d left the Circle. “What happened to Lily?”

“Aeonar. I think.” Caedan spat tersely.

“O-oh.”

He had been _surprised_ to find out Jowan was a blood mage. He hadn’t _hated_ him.

* * *

“How angry _was_ Surana?”

“She would have _killed_ me.”

Jowan managed a laugh. “I warned you.”

It was _odd_ to be outside with him again. The last time was when the Circle still mandated outdoor exercise and an older apprentice had made a break for it. Caedan cast another glance at the hillside path that led into Redcliffe. It had only been a few days: the others might not have reached the Circle. Yet each movement from that direction made him wary of the glint of armor. Alistair’s insistence that Caedan was under no circumstances returning to the tower had been touching. The familiarity might have made him less jumpy, however.

The sun passed its zenith and the two went indoors. Caean checked with Leliana and Morrigan that nothing had developed. There were more showy ways of ending a Blight, he was sure, than sitting around babysitting a demon.

“I don’t think she likes me.”

“She doesn’t like most people. Don’t take it personally.” A flame flickered to life at Caedan’s fingertips and he tossed it to Jowan.

“I think she _really_ doesn’t like me.” Jowan stopped the flame and sent it back after increasing its size. “She glares at me like I’m an insect that needs pinning.”

“ _Everyone_ here looks at you like that.”

Jowan shifted uncomfortably and returned a larger ball of fire. “Do you, um, do you think Surana will come?”

“I doubt it,” Caedan admitted with a sigh. “I’d only heard Irving mention the ritual once or twice. I can’t imagine they’d bring someone our age along. Besides, they need a head like hers to keep people like us in check.”

Jowan didn’t laugh. “Then, do you think Ser Rutherford will?” An ice-cold chill swamped him. “If we’re here, and Senior Enchanter Wynne’s here—”

“I should have killed him. He was _begging_ for it. _I could have_ —”

Jowan clapped his hands over the roaring sphere to put it out. “The First Enchanter was there. There wasn’t anything you could have done.”

Irving was there on the way _down_.

* * *

Caedan smiled gently. “Hello, Connor.”

“Aren't you the one who saved us?”

“Suppose so. Do you remember anything?”

Connor frowned. “A… A bad dream. There was someone scary there, but you made them go away! Mother says you’re a hero.” Isolde must not have known how tempting Jowan’s suggestion of using her life had been to make that claim.

“Mother says you’re from the Circle? What’s it like there?”

 _Terrible._ “It’s not all bad. There’ll be plenty of apprentices your age. And proper tutors.”

“Where’s Jowan? Isn’t he coming?”

“He’s gone, I’m afraid.” Alistair had sent word when they’d reached the Circle. Plenty of time for Jowan to get a head start.

“Can’t I wait ‘til Father’s better?” Caedan managed a sympathetic grin for the young boy. An Archdemon set to swallow Fereldan whole, and the templars still focused on leashing mages. _Congratulations. Your son isn’t dead,_ he’d told Isolde when she begged him the same.

Caedan stood with his hands on Connor’s shoulders as they watched the templars finalize arrangements. He took a deep, even breath, willing himself to forget the smell of the ocean and the rocking of a ship. _Not Kirkwall,_ he consciously thought the name of the city for the first time in years. _They’re not sending him to Kirkwall._

Irving approached them with a smile both kind and tired. “Are you prepared?”

“Connor.” The boy turned back, and Caedan knelt to look him in the eye. “A lot of people will try to blame you for what happened here. It’s _not your fault_. Remember that. A demon did this. Not you.” He looked up at the templars eyeing them and steeled his nerves. “Do be careful,” Caedan leaned over Connor, holding the boy protectively. “Wouldn’t want to go through all that trouble to save him just to lose him on the way back.”

Irving’s voice was warm as he tried to give a proper farewell. “Amell…” Caedan withdrew, hands behind his back. Caught off-guard, Irving stuttered. “I know the Circle never quite suited you. You’ve been well?”

“Quite. Found some new reading last time I was there.” Irving’s eyes widened as Caedan showed him his own journal. “Hope you don’t mind. Took it with me.” Shoving the damned thing into his old mentor’s chest, Caedan pushed past him to join _his_ traveling party.

Caedan whistled for Thalsian as he placed his staff across his shoulders. The mabari bounded happily, barking as he waggled in excitement.

“Good news is the road will take us all the way to Denerim. Just have to hope Genitivi’s there.”

“Someone’ll know where he’s gone.”

Alistair made a noise of agreement. “Listen, when we get there—”

“Loghain will get his,” Caedan stared ahead solemnly. “He’s not getting away with what he did to us.”

“Ah. Yup. Good. Definitely what I wanted to talk about.


	9. Bee (Mine): Leliana/Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second new scenario made for the prompt list. As much as she hates everything about the Surface, Nasi Brosca just can't stop stumbling into things there that make life better.

Nasi risked a peak at the sky—vast and grey—and snapped back to staring at the fire. This _snow_ stuff falling from the sky was apparently so bad on the Surface this wouldn’t be the only time it halted their progress. “For _days_ ,” Alistiar had joked, then immediately apologized for shocking her, then apologized again because of all things it was _true_.

“Nasi? Is it alright if I join you?” Nasi gestured for Leliana to sit. “This is a bit...oh, here we go!” She set a folded bit of fabric on the snow. With Nasi’s hood pulled down the arrangement let them get a view of each other’s faces. “It’s a good thing we’re going to Orzammar this time of year. Once winter truly comes to Ferelden traveling the mountains will be next to impossible!”

Nasi gave a non-commital grunt. She was _not_ dealing with something like those moving trees again so soon. She _knew_ Orzammar’s dangers.

“I have something I wanted to share with you, Ferelden food being what it is.” Nasi wasn’t going to complain about food she didn’t have to fight for, but sure. “I like it in wine. Oh, but it’s good on its own too. Have you had any before?”

“Probably not.”

“Ah, right,” Leliana brought the jar back to her chest, a blush spreading beneath her freckles. _Pretty,_ a thought came and went before Nasi could examine it. “It’s honey,” Leliana tipped the jar slightly so Nasi didn’t have to lean so far to see the contents. “I thought, if you’d like to try some…”

Nasi shrugged, then decided a proper answer was better. “Sure.”

Leliana watched anxiously as Nasi gathered some of the thick, amber liquid on a spoon and stuck it in her mouth. _Sweet_ , and richer in taste than...anything. It must have shown on her face. Leliana beamed, bright and radiant. “You like it!”

Nasi swallowed thickly. _Sweet._


	10. Surprise Kiss: Bull/Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull makes the mistake of underestimating the woman who knows his weaknesses.

“Really?” Bull scoffed when Sera took the seat in front of him. She set her arm wordlessly on the table with a grin. Already excited buzzings of _easy bet_ were making their way through the crowd. “Still time for you to back out.”

“You can!”

“Two gold on the elf.” The mood of the crowd shifted. Likely no one would have willingly bet against the Inquisitor, regardless of how sure the outcome was. Kendra placed her coins on the table by Sera and draped an arm across the elf’s shoulders. Each wore the identical smirk of co-conspirators. “Unless you’d rather back out?”

A trap was in here somewhere, but for the life of him Bull couldn’t figure out _what_. Sera would just be in it for a good arm wrestle. What would Kendra get out of paying out so much to a group of half-drunk soldiers? She didn’t take roundabout approaches of building goodwill. Not such _blatant_ ones. Was she in it just to give Sera support?

“I’ll pay for your drinks to make it sting less, boss.”

“I look forward to it.” Kendra clapped Sera’s shoulders and stepped back. A scattered cheering rose as Bull and Sera leaned in.

Giving Sera a go at an earnest shot proved his undoing. He was aware of Kendra circling the table on his blind side. Aware of her bending over for a closer look. He could feel Sera prepping for another valiant, ineffectual push.

And then Kendra kissed him.

In the split second that followed Sera slammed his arm against the table and Kendra hoisted her up for the disbelieving hoots and hollers of the crowd. Bull sat there in a daze. Had that happened? It had been so fast, so _public_. But, judging from how the crowd piled Sera with praise and drink, he was sure they were the only ones who knew.

“You filthy cheat,” Bull growled with a hand braced on the table Kendra was using.

“ _You’re_ the one who assumed I’d play fair.”

“You only care ‘cause it was you who lost,” Sera scooped another pile of coins Kendra pushed her way in a bag.

“Don’t feel bad, chief!” The next table over, his Chargers were counting _their_ winnings. “People will forget soon as we make it a song.”

“You too, Skinner?” Skinner and Kendra were too alike to get along. He’d hoped at least she’d back him up.

“I ain’t _stupid_. Not betting against Glowy Hand.”

Kendra twirled a bulging coin purse around her finger. “Get me a drink? It’ll take the sting off.”


	11. Love Potion: Jowan/Surana/Amell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I actually came up with an ending to this scenario thanks to the prompts. First three paragraphs I've had in my head for a while, but unlike the earlier ZevWarden fill I've always wondered what came after Jowan walked in the door.

Surana lay across Amell’s legs on his bunk. It was one of the rare days the apprentice quarters were nearly empty and, even rarer, a day there was nothing for them to _do_. Amell had a book pilfered from the library propped open on his chest. From how slow he turned the pages, though, she doubted he was even reading. “We could go pass time in a fuck closet?” Surana suggested.

Her seat jostled as Amell gestured down. “I could get it up?”

Surana sighed in agreement at the disinterested note in his voice. Finding one of the spare, small spaces members of the Circle used for sex only to go through the motions didn’t sound appealing. The door opened and they both gladly greeted Jowan for the distraction he brought.

Amell made to pull him into their pile, but he kept himself mostly upright. “Surana? Could you help me with something?”

Like he even needed to ask. “Of course. What do you need?”

“We’ll both help,” Amell offered.

“You can’t help me.”

“ _I can’t_ —”

“It’s about potions!”

“Oh.” Amell, who had buried his nose in books on entropy magic the first moment he’d been transferred to Kinloch Hold, dropped back to the mattress. “Fair enough.”

He still joined Surana and Jowan as Jowan took them to one of the smaller classrooms. Amell dropped backwards onto one of the seats as Jowan explained which potion he needed Surana’s help in making. It was simple enough, but…

“What’s this on the desk?” Surana rubbed at the blackened residue with two fingers.

Jowan tried to sound casual. “I, um, ruined my first attempt. Attempts.”

Amell snorted in laughter. “Impressive.”

“Like you’d do better,” Joan muttered.


	12. Watching Sunset: Sibling Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the most stretched any of my fills get in matching the prompts. This is also, unless something terribly wonderful happens in the next two days, the longest of the fills. More Kendra and Darrell because I'm in love with writing about them being in the same room. Part of the Multi Protags AU, where they're companions to Inquisitor Lavellan.

“Go for it, Tiny!”

Fanari’s breath caught tight in her throat as Bull crossed the fallen log. Now that he was on it she _really_ didn’t like how much bark still clung to its sides. Only when Bull was on the ground on her side of the ravine did she let herself breathe again. As he and Blackwall traded places so Bull could hold down the end of the trunk, Fanari sent another look east and west. The river beneath them cut a steep, wide gash through the landscape. Even _if_ this was the only crossing in either direction… Not everyone was elven. Though, Bull _had_ made it.

“Your turn, Darrell!” She called over.

Darrell had a look of concentrated worry on his face as he stepped onto the log in front of Cassandra and Dorian’s steadying arms.

“Cross sideways!” Kendra advised. She hadn’t let go of her hold when Bull got over, Fanari noticed.

He did, slower than most of them had gone but with steadier movements. About halfway he wobbled. Fanari’s heart dropped.

“Don’t look down!” Both Kendra and Dorian offered helpfully when he’d steadied himself. Fanari caught the flicker of his eyes.

“Did he look?” Dorian called to Kendra.

“He did!”

“ _Neither_ of you are helping right—” The chunk of bark Darrell stepped on peeled away, and he fell with it. Kendra, on her feet when his slipped, flung off her coat and dove in after him.

It was a few more heartbeats before Fanari realized they’d lost _both_ of them. Mindless of the shouts of warning and concern, she jumped onto the log and darted across to Dorian. Cassandra was already trying to help him out of his horror.

“He was wearing his _armor_ ,” Dorian moaned.

* * *

Kendra broke the surface with a lung-aching gasp. Digging her fingers into the bank, she helped Darrell drag himself onto land. They both collapsed, she on her side and he on his back, as they coughed for air.

“Will you _fucking_ learn to swim already?”

“Somehow—this has put me off.”

Kendra rolled herself to a sitting position with a groan. “I’m of House Trevelyan of Ostwick! Our ships control the tides! Gonna _drown_ if I ever get on one!”

Confident she hadn’t lost the weapons on her to the river, she scanned the ledges. She _really_ hoped it was just that she couldn’t recognize the landscape from below. “By your guess, how long were we in there?”

“Too long.”

“I think we’re past where we turned back.”

“Oh, _fuck_. I’m—”

“Don’t go apologizing for not _dying_.”

When they had more or less gathered themselves they headed downstream. The sun was starting to set when they found a crevice that could serve as shelter. An hour later they agreed there was no use getting hurt in the dark and returned to it.

“It’s all in my _coat_ ,” Kendra groaned when all her pants turned up was a pack of damp matches.

Darrell dug around at his side. “I might have…”

Kendra glared balefully at the fishless river. “You keep _food_ in there?”

“Flint?”

The crevice they tucked themselves into kept them clear of most the winds swooshing down the narrow valley. A few soft, green plants grew out of cracks in the rock face and they managed to get a fire going.

Watching the opposite cliff turn from pink to shadows, Kendra voiced a worry that had bothered her since hauling Darrell from the river. “We’re on the wrong bank.” Darrell shivered against her.

* * *

Starting out as soon as the sun had risen enough for a grey light to show the way, the morning was near gone when the cliff on the far bank started to dip down. In a little more than an hour it flattened out and slung away to the south. The river widened and lost the strength in its current.

“We can still see the shore from here.” As Kendra was perched on Darrell’s shoulders, the _we_ was generous. Kendra crossed first. Large, flat stones lined the bottom of the river here. The water distorted them, making it seem shallower that it was. Even so, the highest it ever lapped was her stomach.

She went all the way across to be sure. The current slowed so much in this stretch of the river she was still straight on with where she'd left Darrell. She waded back over to help him bring across his armor.

“Cold, cold, cold,” he hissed.

“Imagine dragging your ass through it while you've got five tons of armor on.”

Kendra examined the ground around the rise in elevation as he put it on again. “We can’t have gotten _behind_ them,” she muttered to herself. “The river gave us enough of a head start. Unless they went through the night.”

“Fanari’s smart,” Darrell interjected. “She wouldn’t risk anyone else.”

Kendra agreed, and they started upstream. It was slower going with the sun burning hot above and the elevation rising steeply beneath.

* * *

“We can go ahead,” Sera repeated, and Fanari once again found her decision swayed. “Just us. You know trees, and I know—”

“No.” Fanari said firmly before she could be convinced. She was _not_ splitting them further when their group was the furthest Inquisition forces had made it into the area. She wasn’t about to lose anyone else.

“Maybe the Kid could,” Varric suggested. “If he sensed them, made sure they were okay…”

“She doesn’t like it when I hear her.” Cole appeared behind them, startling the three. “I find him and she follows. They’re too close.”

Fanari gnawed the end of her thumb nail, eyes on the dappled light poking through the leaves above. Why had Deshanna never taught her _shape shifting_?

“They know how to survive. They will protect one another from harm.” Fanari was only half-aware of the comforting hand Solas placed on her shoulder. “We only have to hope they were not harmed by the fall.”

“I think you should all listen to the Inquisitor.”

“Now, Hero, it’s not a bad thing to admit you care.”

“Oh thank _fuck_.”

Relief swamped through Fanari as her ears flicked towards Kendra’s voice. Kendra trotted to Vivienne chanting, “Coat coat coat.” Darrell all but had to catch Dorian. Fanari politely turned away.

“Scare me half to death!” Sera exclaimed as Kendra felt through the various contents of her pockets before slipping her coat on. “What if something happens and we’re here while you’re there?”

“Pfft. What’s a little water gonna do? Get me wet?”

“It will get you _sick_ dear, now come here.” Kendra sighed and let Vivienne and Solas examine her with an air of put-upon patience. Fanari joined them, asking a few questions of her own as Vivienne turned and called, “You as well, darling.” Kendra whistled to Darrell as he approached and threw a pack of travel food his way.

Aside from minor scrapes and bruises that under any other circumstance Fanari would have let heal without magic, the two appeared no worse than when they’d last seen them. Kendra explained the lay of the land before them as their group continued on. A place near the end of the cliff where they’d crossed the river was suggested as a place to make camp. Fanari noticed that as they walked Kendra spent as much time beside Bull as she did her brother. She felt a stab of guilt that she’d been so focused on comforting Dorian. She knew Kendra could be found in the tavern as often as her workshop, but she hadn’t realized...

“Hold on.” Just as the slope broke onto even ground Kendra squinted ahead. The setting sun must have made it too dark for humans, however. Kendra pulled Sera in by the shoulder and pointed at the dense copse of trees on the opposite end of the small beach. Aimed at Fanari over her shoulder, she asked, “Hey, Inquisitor, think those are our ruins?”

They set up camp with plans to explore further the following morning. Fanari had her charcoal out, trying to get the way the angles of the leaves and stone bled into each other in the half-light right, when she overheard Kendra speaking to Darrell. “I don’t want to frighten Dorian, but we _are_ going to have to get back across at some point.”


	13. Love Marks: Morrigan/Warden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caedan Amell is not a good person. This is entirely because of his upbringing.
> 
> Warning: While the abuse committed by a third party is not depicted, it is the major focus of the chapter. Heavy T-possible M rating.

Caedan stared down at the babbling man on the floor of the cell. What was someone suffering lyrium withdrawal doing in the dungeons of Rendon Howe?

“Oh, that poor man. What’s—”

“He’s a templar, Leliana. There’s nothing poor about him.” If he was right, it was a templar that he knew.

Wynne’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “But that’s—”

“Eremon. Ser Eremon.” Recognition sparked in the templar’s eyes. He seemed to notice the group for the first time. “What are you doing here?”

“Doing…? Doing, doing. Looking for...for an apostate. Escaped, using blood magic.” A chill went up Caedan’s spine. It could be unrelated. Someone else on the run. But, he had to be sure.

“Where did they escape?”

“Ci-Circle. Couldn’t find him. Destroyed his...his…” Phylactery. Destroyed his _phylactery_.

“What was the mage’s name?”

“Name. Name, name, name…”

Alistair shifted warily. “Caedan? What are you doing?”

“Helping.” Eremon’s eyes shone at the sight of the vial Caedan pulled out. He swirled its contents, voice full of mock sympathy. “You want it? Have it.” Eremon dove for the lyrium potion Caedan poured onto the floor, arms stretching through the bars of his cell to guzzle it from his fingers.

“The mage’s name, Ser.”

“Jowan. Cornered him in Redcliffe. Teirn’s men took him, locked me here.” Awareness was coming back to him. He pulled his arms back, having realized what he’d been doing.

“Do you recognize me?”

Eremon’s gaze shot up. Lucid now, his eyes narrowed and his lips formed the disdainful sneer Caedan recognized from the halls of Kinloch Hold. “I know you, Amell.”

“Good.” Caedan smiled. Eremon had only moved his hands back. Reaching through the bars, Caedan grabbed his face and shot lightning through his arm.

* * *

“Eamon, we have a problem.”

“Eamon, they’ve _taken_ him!”

Alistair was beyond distraught. He’d been too horrified to object when Caedan had turned himself over, claiming he was the only warden present. Then Leliana was dragging him while Wynne hurried them into the city. Anora explained it calmly.

Thalsian padded among the group, whining low in his throat for his lost master. It reminded Alistair of Ostagar. Howls and whimpers of pain shaking each Ferelden-born soldier to their core worse than the darkspawn. Thalsian had _been_ one of them. The mabari had lost its mistress, and nearly its life, to the horde.

“I can find him.” Morrigan’s voice drew Alistair into an argument he hadn’t been listening to about how to locate Caedan.

“How?” he demanded.

“‘Tis no concern of yours, but he has an object I can use to know his location.”

Alistair hated how close to tears he was. “And you think they’ll just let him _keep_ it?”

Eamon interjected. “If it is the best we have to go on we have no choice. Alistair, you must remain here.”

“But—!”

“You are the last warden we have. You must remain where we know you are safe.”

* * *

Bile rose at the back of his throat when Caedan saw where they were leading him. Tall and windowless, it should have reminded him of the tower. Instead, the fortress put in mind another Circle from across the ocean.

He was chained on his knees, arms pulled back and spread apart. He focused on keeping his breathing steady and fighting back panic. Tranquility was always the worst thing. However, he figured they’d want him to care a _little_ about what they were going to do. Public execution could be entertaining. Might be able to cause a little mayhem if they forgot to cleanse his magic beforehand.

No sooner had he thought of it when someone _did_. It slammed through him, a forcing of an essential part of him that left him breathless. A tremor ran across his body, then another, and he was shaking when all three templars had entered the room. One of them held a whip in their hands. The scars on Caedan’s back itched.

The second templar stood before him. “Recite the Chant.”

And just like that, he was a boy of ten again: living in the Gallows and not knowing what transgression had earned him such a punishment.

He didn’t ask which Canticle. He didn’t need to.

“Magic exists to serve man.”

The whip fell.

* * *

His shoulder hurt. It had been wrenched at some point, and focusing on that made it easier to deal with the pain everywhere else. If that stopped working, there was his hip. If that stopped, his hatred.

He nursed it in the times between when the templars came and went. Always the same three, always at regular intervals. He’d tried to count how long between their visits, how long he’d been here. But the seconds slipped through his grasp and counting his heartbeats only amplified the throbs of agony. In the dim light he could just see his outline in the pool of blood. His hair hung down, framing his face. It had always been kept at the maximum length the Circle allowed. It had grown quickly in the past year to reach his shoulders. If they cut it, he’d go mad. Another series of ripples distorted his silhouette.

If only he knew blood magic. Oh, the things he would _do_.

He could hear people coming. It was...was it early? Whenever they came it was right when he could feel his magic coming back. It was always trying to, but they seemed to know the moment it would become _actual_ magic. When the door opened, he wasn’t sure what the noise he made was.

“Morrigan.” From the look on her face, he’d finally found something of the Chantry that shocked her. He managed a low chuckle when he saw who she was with. “Senior Enchanter. For once I really am glad to see you.”

Though they were gentle with him as they unchained his wrists and set a cloak over his back, he couldn’t manage to keep in a whine of discomfort when they helped him to stand.

 _They’re late,_ he thought blearily. His magic was starting to rise in him. Morrigan leaned him against her to help him walk. “Backwards,” Caedan tried to warn them. Standing had all but made him faint. “We need to go—”

The templars burst into the room. “Just what are the two of you doing?” demanded the one who cleansed his magic and stood to the side during sessions. Caedan hadn’t planned to remark on Morrigan’s apparent conversion until he was sure he wasn’t delirious. “That man is—!”

Caedan shot his arm out, and a veritable storm followed.

* * *

“Wynne _is_ a healer. Not that I don’t appreciate it.”

“They must be cleaned first, regardless if it is magic used to heal them.”

Caedan forced himself not to give an accepting shrug that would do him more harm than good.

“There were more.”

“Beg pardon?” He wasn’t entirely sure if Morrigan had meant him to hear her.

“It is why you do not wish for me to touch your back.”

Ah... “Yeah. Please. Can you drop it?”

She acquiesced, helping him ease a new set of robes onto his arms and over his shoulders. It surprised him when she circled to his front and tied it closed over his chest. When she was done, he found himself resting his head against her midsection.

He could hear someone coming. Could recognize the footsteps.

_”You know?” Surana told him his third month in Ferelden. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.”_

He straightened as much as his injuries allowed to grin at Alistair as he entered. “Heard you were worried about me? How _sweet_.”


	14. NSFW: Bull/Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scenario I was most looking forward to writing. Rated PG.
> 
> On the subject of Varric's nicknames: Kendra has different ones for if she's the Inquisitor or a companion. As the Inquisitor she's "June Bug", as a companion she's "Knives".

Kendra leaped behind the mages’ barrier to where there was ample room between her and the dragon. “Nice of you to join us!” Varric greeted.

Sera ran nearby to grab a fresh quiver. “Better see you back up there!”

“Do you need healing?” Solas asked.

Ignoring the twinge in her torso where Crestwood’s wyvern had bitten her, no. “Nah. Just gotta catch my breath.” Catch her breath and _wait_. For what, she wasn’t sure, but the whisperings in her head had better tell her when it happened.

“Lovely time to, really.” Dorian observed.

“Do be careful, darling!” Vivienne called when she darted out again. She was at Cole’s side, about to lash out, when the dragon reared its head and their eyes met.

“Wait.” she demanded. The dragon circled tightly in midair and landed a short distance away. Kendra kept her arm extended to keep the others back. It looked at her, moving its head as though examining what it saw. Then it shook itself like a great scaled cat and flew away.

“What was that!?” Sera demanded.

Blackwall looked to Cassandra. “It just...left?”

“I can summon it,” Kendra realized as they grouped together, unsure of where the knowledge came from. “Once.”

“June Bug, you _gotta_ let me write that down.”

She ignored Varric. “Is anyone injured?” Luckily, no one was.

“We’ll head back to camp and start for Skyhold in the morning.”

“Boss.”

“The dragon will help against Corypheus but we still need to—.”

“ _Boss_.”

“ _What_?” Looking at his face, she knew what. “Really?”

Bull gave a tight nod. Kendra started at him in disbelief for a moment before deciding. Hand on her hip, she ordered, “Everyone leave.” Ignoring their reactions she pointed at the giant statue. “And I’m not doing it where Mythal’s watching.”

“Fine by me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Then they both had the best sex of their lives and Bioware were cowards for not showing us The Iron Dick the end.


End file.
